


The Weight of History

by scarletmanuka



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Dates, Getting to Know Each Other, M/M, Mycroft is a history buff, Mycroft is a shameless flirt, Random Encounters, So is Greg actually, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:38:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8244632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/pseuds/scarletmanuka
Summary: During a trip to Edinburgh for his Aunt's funeral, Greg bumps into Mycroft. A postponed meeting leaves Mycroft the afternoon free so he agrees to go for a drink.





	1. Chapter 1

It was overcast and dreary as Greg stepped out of his hotel, matching his sombre mood perfectly. His Aunt Mary, his last remaining relative, had succumbed to her short, but brutal fight against breast cancer and he’d come to Edinburgh for the funeral. Her lawyer had advised that he was also a named beneficiary in her will, so he needed to stay around for the reading. It wasn’t until Monday so he had another four days in the city, so he decided to do a spot of sightseeing and try and relax as much as he could. 

The last time he’d had any time off work was that disastrous holiday he’d taken with his ex in a last ditch effort to save their marriage. He’d discovered just before they left that she’d spent the entire time secretly texting the PE teacher, even though she’d sworn she’d ended it and was amenable to making it work. He’d been glad of the diversion of being sent to Dartmoor upon his return, not that he’d tell Mycroft Holmes that. No point in letting the man think he’d always willingly do his bidding. But no matter - he had a handful of days all to himself, with no work, no narky ex-wife, and no Sherlock bloody Holmes. 

He decided he’d spend the day just having a leisurely wander about the city since he hadn’t been there since he was a lad, and then a quiet dinner and a pint at one of the pubs along The Mile. He was definitely feeling touristy, so he contemplated catching a few tours tomorrow or over the weekend as well, maybe even go to the zoo. He might look like a lonely loner, but he could handle that. He was learning that being by himself was the safest way to not get hurt.

Before he could start to mope, he pushed the negative thoughts from his head and walked up the cobbled street his hotel was on until he reached The Royal Mile. The crush of tourists was quite heavy up towards the castle so he decided to head downhill instead. He gave the tourists spitting on the Heart of Midlothian a wide berth, and wandered past St Giles cathedral, before stopping in for a look at the Police Museum. He chatted for quite a while with the staff there, and then decided it was time for a spot of lunch. He found a small cafe down in The Canongate where it wasn’t quite so busy and sat outside to people watch as he ate. 

As much as he tried to keep positive, his traitorous mind kept coming back to how alone he was. He really didn’t think he was lonely, but perhaps he was just lying to himself? He watched an older couple walking past, holding hands and sharing a quiet laugh together. At one time he had certainly believed that he’d share his twilight years with someone and still have that kind of a connection, but now he could only picture a bleak, and lonesome future. But was finding that connection more trouble than it was worth? He loathed the idea of getting back on the market, so to speak, and he didn't even know how to begin. And what were the chances of him finding the right person right away? Slim to none? Which would mean a huge investment of time in going on dates and getting to know someone, only to discover that it wasn’t going to work out, only to have to start all over again.

Yes, he was a hot blooded male, and he was interested in sex - very interested, thank you very much - but that wasn’t all he was interested in. If he just wanted a casual shag, he knew he could have his pick of several willing participants, both male and female, any time he went to the pub. He wouldn’t class himself as overly attractive, but he knew he had some sort of rugged appeal judging by the interested looks he always seemed to receive. He’d always found it a nice confidence boost when he was married, even if he’d never have acted on it. He wasn’t getting any younger though, and his looks were going to fade, so he wanted someone who wasn’t just interested in the physical aspect, but with whom he could actually have a decent conversation with. Someone who was passionate, and curious, and intelligent, and funny. 

He finished his sandwich and grabbed a coffee to go, and continued his meandering walk down The Mile. He got to the bottom and crossed in front of Parliament House and stood looking up at Arthur’s Seat. He remembered climbing to the top with his aunt when he was a kid, and how amazing the view was. He’d made sure to bring his running gear with him on the trip and he decided that maybe he’d go for a run through Holyrood Park and perhaps make the climb to the top again. He pulled out his phone to check what the weather would be like to pick the best day to go, when he heard his name being called. He turned around and started at amazement at the besuited man standing behind him. “Mycroft! What on earth are you doing here?”

The elegant man shrugged and nodded over his shoulder. “There are a series of meetings in town which unfortunately, required my presence.”

“Stopping for lunch?”

“No. Finishing up for the day, in fact.” A small look of disgust flashed over his features. “Several of the parties involved have discovered that they are woefully unprepared for our negotiations and have requested a delay to the commencement of proceedings. Their ineptitude has resulted on the meetings being placed on hold until Monday, but I am unable to return to London as I may be required in an advisory capacity.”

“Tough gig, being a minor government official.” Greg grinned at him, unable to help making fun of the ridiculous cover story the elder Holmes used.

“Indeed.” Mycroft replied drily. His eyes softened a little and he took a step forward, almost looking like he was going to lay his hand on Greg’s arm, but stopping before he did. “I heard about your aunt. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Not even surprised that he knew, Greg gave him a sad smile and shrugged. “Thanks, I appreciate that. But she was suffering, so it’s best that she went as quick as she did.”

“A nice sentiment, but I assume it does not lessen the grief you feel.”

“Not really, no. But, that’s life I guess.” There was a moment of silence, in which several thoughts flew through Greg’s mind. First was:  _ What are the odds of bumping into someone I knew here? _ Second was:  _ No one should look that damn sexy in a suit _ . Third was:  _ I really am bloody lonely.  _ “So, what do you have planned for the rest of the day then? Since your meeting has been cancelled.”

“Return to my hotel and do paperwork I suppose. I was mostly up to date prior to my departure, but there’s always work to be found.”

“So, nothing really urgent, then?”

Mycroft cocked his head as he regarded him. “No, nothing urgent as such.”

Greg tried to ignore the way his stomach churned with nerves and then tried to figure out why he was nervous in the first place. He shook the thought aside to be dealt with later, and blurted out his question. “I was wondering if you’d like to get a drink with me?” He worried what Mycroft might read from his face, and wondered if he’d share since Greg certainly had no idea what he was thinking. “I just thought, well, maybe you’d like the company?”

Mycroft’s face was blank as he took a moment to consider the proposal, and Greg felt his stomach flip again. Why did it keep doing that? Was the sandwich he’d had bad? Food poisoning was more likely than him actually being nervous, wasn’t it? It’s not like he was asking the politician out on a  _ date _ . They’d had dinner several times over the years to discuss Sherlock, so it’s not like this was anything new. Besides, Mycroft had been the one to see Greg standing there and had called out to him. It would have been just as easy for him to continue on his way and Greg would have been none the wiser, so the fact that he’d approached him meant that he didn't find his company completely intolerable, didn’t it? He wasn’t working a case with Sherlock, or even in contact with him at the moment, so it wasn’t like Mycroft had felt the need to exchange pleasantries before getting down to business. 

“That sounds rather pleasant,” Mycroft finally agreed.

“Really? Oh, I mean, good, that’s great. So, um, anywhere in particular you’d like to go?”

“I have no preference. It’s been a long time since I’ve been out for a drink in the city proper so I couldn’t really make any decent suggestions.”

“Want to just take a stroll then and see what takes our fancy?”

“That sounds like a plan, Detective Inspector.”

“Just Greg will do. Not on the job, remember.”

A small smile quirked on the politician’s lips. “Profuse apologies. Old habits die hard I suppose.”

“That’s alright. Just don’t let it happen again.” He waggled a finger at him in mock chastisement. 

“Good heavens, and face that kind of wrath? Perish the thought!”

It took Greg just a moment for it to click that Mycroft had cracked a joke and he barked out a laugh. “More dangerous men than you have quaked in their boots at it.”

“More dangerous men than me? You must lead an extraordinary life, Gregory.” His face was deadpan, but there was a slight twinkle in his eyes that said he was joking, but actually, not really. 

Greg considered him. “Hmmm, on second thoughts, nope, scratch that. You scare the shit out of me so you really would be the most dangerous man I know.”

A delicate eyebrow arched above sky blue eyes. “You fear me?”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I have a healthy dose of self preservation.”

Mycroft chuckled. “Your continued association with my brother belies that fact. Rest assured though, at this particular moment in time, you have nothing to fear from me.”

“Only at this particular moment?” Greg gave him a cheeky grin. “Will you give me a heads up when that changes and I need to scarper?”

“I suppose I could bring myself to give you fair warning. It would only be sporting afterall.”

Greg found himself laughing again and it struck him that he’d never really gotten to know the man in front of him at all. They’d been acquaintances for six years and he’d only ever seen the face that Mycroft had wanted him to see. He felt honoured to be allowed a glimpse of the person beneath the icy facade, and was slightly surprised to find that he was liking what he found very much. “That’s very noble of you. We really should get a move on though, since standing here yakking isn’t finding us a beer.”

“We’re in Edinburgh, and you’re going to have beer?” Mycroft looked aghast as they started to make their way up The Mile. “I’m certain that could be considered blasphemy.”

“It’s just gone one o’clock. It’s a little too early for the hard stuff, don’t you think?”

“It’s never too early for a good whiskey, Gregory.”

He sounded so affronted that Greg found himself laughing again. “I’ll bow to your superior knowledge then.”

“That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you ever say.”

“Oi! I’ve said lots of clever things, I’ll have you know. It’s not my fault you’re skulking around after the fact.”

Mycroft cut him a glare. “I do not  _ skulk _ .”

“Yeah, actually, you do. When it comes to skulking, you’re the top dog. Head Skulker. Professor Skulkor McSkultington of Skulking University.”

“You’re being quite ridiculous,” Mycroft told him, but there was a smile hovering on his lips.

“It’s all part of my charm.”

“You have many charms, Gregory, but that is not one of them.”

“Oh, really? You think I’m charming?” He waggled his eyebrows and threw him another cheeky grin.

“Not at this particular moment, no.”

“Shame. I’m sure you’ll change your mind after a few whiskies.”

“Undoubtedly.”

They fell silent as they negotiated the crowded footpath, and Greg mulled over the tension that was definitely thrumming between them. He might have been out of the game for quite a while, but this definitely felt like flirting. He snuck a glance at the tall, slender man walking beside him and definitely found he appreciated what he saw. Mycroft moved with grace and purpose, and even amongst a throng of tourists, he was a commanding presence. The tightness in his chest he’d felt earlier as he’d pondered his loneliness had eased somewhat and he found himself smiling. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure if Mycroft was even interested in...well, anything really, but for now he decided that he’d just enjoy an afternoon of pleasant company and see what happened. 

The Tolbooth Tavern was just ahead and Greg touched Mycroft’s elbow to get his attention. He ignored the little thrill that went through him at touching the man so casually, and gestured to the pub. “This do?”

A smile tugged at the edges of Mycroft’s lips. “A fitting choice for a government official and a copper.” He noticed the query on Greg’s face. “From its name, I’m sure you can conclude that they used to collect tolls here, but it also was used as prison and courthouse for a time.”

They found an empty table and sat down. “I thought you didn’t know many pubs around here?”

“I don’t, but I do know history, Gregory. I admit, I find the history of this city in particular to be extremely fascinating.”

“Have you spent much time here?”

“On and off over the years, mostly in an official capacity but I did do a year at the university in my youth.”

“Only a year? What happened? Did you flunk out?” he teased.

“Quite the opposite, I assure you.” It was said without bragging, just a statement of fact.

“Yeah, I can see you whizzing through ten degrees in the time it takes most people to do one. But for someone as brilliant and amazing as you, that shouldn’t come as a surprise.” They both froze and Greg cursed his runaway tongue. He had slipped into a comfortable rhythm with Mycroft so quickly that he wasn’t giving anywhere near enough thought to what he was saying. The look on the younger man’s face was a mixture between surprise and embarrassment, and Greg quickly ascertained that he wasn’t a regular receiver of genuine compliments. As much as he’d meant every word, he didn’t want to scare him away so early in the day so he switched to diversionary tactics. “I’m going to head to the bar to get our drinks. Back in a tic.”

It didn’t take long to order two of the local whiskies and by the time he got back to the table, Mycroft had schooled his expression back to the blank slate he usually wore when he was in work mode. The pang Greg felt when he saw it was jarring - they’d only been talking for a short period of time, but already he was accustomed to the more relaxed and friendly version of the politician. He also found that he was very interested in getting to know that version much better, so he would put his quite considerable charms to good use and try and coax him back out. “So, you’re a history buff? Did you study it or is it just a hobby?”

Mycroft took a sip of his drink and made an appreciative sound at the taste. “I studied it only insofar as much as it related to my field, so mostly political history. The cultural and social side of history is more of a hobby.”

“But they’d overlap quite a lot, yeah?”

“Certainly. You can’t really separate them, but obviously while I was studying, I was unable to explore just any tangent that took my fancy.”

“So what is it about this city in particular that interests you.”

“I’m not sure if there is something that  _ doesn’t _ , to be honest. It’s got such a rich history - there’s evidence of people settled in the area going back almost ten thousand years. And then there’s the political importance of the town, with regards to Reformation, and then just way the architecture has evolved and changed to produce the myriad underground spaces and lost closes.” Mycroft’s face became more and more animated as he continued to speak of the history of the city, and the last vestiges of his ‘work face’ disappeared. At one point Greg found himself with his chin on one hand as he gazed in awe at this masterful storyteller - his words were instilled with passion, and his personal insights and opinions about the events that had transpired made it the most entertaining and informative history lesson he’d ever had. He realised he must look like a smitten schoolgirl, so he sat himself up straighter and took a manly swig of his whiskey. Mycroft hadn’t seemed to notice, or more likely, he had but he was too much of a gentleman to comment, but Greg made a concerted effort to ask some interesting questions and contribute to the conversation so he didn't come across as just a daft, vapid, copper.

Mycroft took a break from his impromptu history lesson to get them another round, and Greg’s eyes didn't leave him as he made his way to the bar. The dark, pinstripe suit only accentuated his tall, lean frame, and not for the first time today, Greg noticed just how striking the man was. He’d never really allowed himself to consider Mycroft as being attractive before, mainly because he was so untouchable that what would have been the point? But now, after sharing a few drinks, and quite a few laughs, he seemed much more obtainable. So it was quite alright for Greg to notice the long, pianist’s fingers, the legs that went  _ forever _ , the pale, slender throat, and some very kissable looking lips. 

By the time Mycroft got back with their beverages, Greg had to admit to himself that he was definitely as smitten as a schoolgirl. He was also one hundred percent certain that he did not want this association to end after just a few drinks. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, after he’d accepted the new drink with a ‘Cheers.’

“Did it hurt?”

“Oi! No being cheeky,” he said with a mock glare. His drinking partner had the audacity to give him an adorable little grin. Yes, this other side of Mycroft was definitely someone he wanted to spend more time with. “Since I’ve got some time free before the reading of the will on Monday, I had been planning on doing a few of the tours they run around the place, maybe the vaults, Mary King’s Close, the Covenanter’s Prison, that sort of thing. I figured you might find them interesting and since you’ve got some time up your sleeve as well, maybe you’d like to join me?” His stomach was doing that silly flip thing again, but this time it was full of whiskey which added a whole new dimension to it.

Mycroft considered the offer, and Greg realised that he gave all of his decisions careful consideration. He supposed that being in such an influential and powerful position, he couldn’t just rush head on into anything. “I find that idea rather appealing if I’m honest,” he replied after a moment.

Greg couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “I knew it’d be right up your alley. Though I’m certain you’ll know much more than the guides do, but hopefully you’ll still enjoy them.”

“It’s not just the tours that appeal to me, Gregory, but moreso the company I’ll be keeping.”

He felt a flush creep over his cheeks at the comment. Like most politicians, Mycroft could spin out a sentence to a degree that it only vaguely resembled coherency, yet that one was as plain as day. Feeling the need to acknowledge it, he raised his glass and clinked it against Mycroft’s. “Feeling’s mutual.”

“I’m glad we understand each other.” He gave him a very pointed look over the rim of his glass.

Feeling as happy as if he’d just won a gold medal, Greg decided if he was in for a penny, he may as well be in for a pound. “I think there’s combined tour of the vaults and the prison in the evenings. If we can get a booking for tonight, how do you feel about dinner beforehand?”

“I seem to have made an error earlier,” Mycroft told him, and for one long second, Greg felt the world fall out from beneath him as he plummeted into an abyss. “I believe  _ that’s _ the smartest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

...and he was back to walking on clouds. The weather outside might have still be overcast and dreary, but Greg’s mood was now brighter than the sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying so far :) Next chapter should be up within the week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I may have gotten a bit enthusiastic and finished the chapter within a day, not a week. But for those of you liking the story so far, I'm sure you won't mind!

Wiping away the fog in the mirror, Greg stood in the hotel bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. His shaving kit was laid out next to the sink, and the basin was filling with hot water. He couldn’t help but smile when he mused over the events of the day. Talk about being blindsided. He’d never in a million years have thought he’d have a date with Mycroft bloody Holmes, but in just under an hour he’d be meeting him for dinner, and then a jaunt around a darkened graveyard. Not perhaps the most conventional first date, but then again, when it came to Mycroft, nothing was exactly conventional. 

It had been an awfully long time since he’d been with a bloke, and as far as Greg could have a ‘type’, Mycroft didn’t exactly fit the bill. The few men he’d hooked up with in his early twenties had run in the same crowd, listened to the same punk music, partied hard, and smoked and drank far too much. Definitely not ‘boy next door’ kind of guys. He and his ex-wife had had one threesome with another guy, and even then he was a bit rough around the edges - much like Greg was. His ex most definitely had a type as well. So to say that his attraction to Mycroft had come out of the blue wasn’t much of an exaggeration. 

He lathered his face with cream and thought about what exactly it was that had drawn his attention to the older of the Holmes brothers as he shaved. When they’d first met, his impression had been of a no nonsense, cool, minor government official who was trying his best to not allow his younger, delinquent brother to drag the family name through the mud. The more he saw of Mycroft, the more he began to realise that a) there was nothing ‘minor’ about his job description, b) he was most likely the most powerful man in England, and c) he deeply and truly cared for his little brother. 

Greg remembered the first time he’d seen through a crack in Mycroft’s defences to realise the last part. He’d dropped by to check on Sherlock and had found him slumped over on a rotting couch in the dingy flat he rented, a needle still sticking out of the crook of his arm. He had rushed him to hospital but before he could even place a call, Mycroft had arrived in the emergency department in a flurry of activity. He’d not been able to transfer his brother to a private facility until he’d been stabilised, but he’d had the head of the department called in, Sherlock put in a private room, and had the entire staff jumping at every command. If it hadn’t have been so impressive, Greg would have been appalled at how one man could have so much authority over the staff of a publically run hospital. But then all the orders had been given, and there was nothing left for Mycroft to do but sink into a chair next to the hospital bed and stare at the shell of his brother that lay before him. Greg had gone to get them both a coffee and he stood in the doorway and watched as Mycroft reached up to touch Sherlock’s face, the pain and grief written plainly on his face. He loved his brother dearly, and to see him so close to death had shattered his heart. The mask had slipped back on when he realised Greg was there, but what had been seen by the DI couldn’t be forgotten.

That had earned the tall politician Greg’s respect, but he still wouldn’t have said they were friends, or even that he liked him overly much. Mycroft was always exceedingly polite during their meetings, and would never fail to express his gratitude for all that Greg had done for Sherlock, but even over a meal, they didn't have an easy camaraderie. It was always professional, businesslike, impersonal. 

That had all changed this very day. For some reason - one that was completely unfathomable to Greg - Mycroft had decided to open up; to allow his hidden personality to come to the forefront. Underneath that posh, cool exterior was a very funny, passionate man who piqued Greg’s interest more than anybody had done in well over twenty years. The fact that he was easy on the eyes didn’t go amiss either. He wasn’t a punky youth in ripped jeans and a mohawk, but then again, neither was Greg anymore. It made sense that his taste would change as he grew older, and he’d always acknowledged that Mycroft was a nice looking bloke. He didn’t tick every box, but then again, no one ever did. Greg had always been the type to be more attracted to the personality rather than the physical looks of someone anyway, so it really didn't matter what someone looked like.

He finished shaving and splashed water over his face, happy that he hadn’t managed to cut himself once, despite being so distracted. He brushed his teeth and then went into the main room to get dressed. They were just grabbing dinner at another pub so there was no need to dress up, but he did want to look his best. Well, the best he was going to get whilst living out of a suitcase anyway. He pulled on his best jeans and a slim fitting black woollen jumper, and then his heavy wool coat over the top. He debated for a brief moment and then decided that yes, a scarf would be needed. The wind around here could cut to the bone and he didn't want to spend the entire night with his teeth chattering. He wasn’t expecting the opportunity for a kiss, but he could hope, and sounding like dice in a cup wasn’t the most attractive thing in the world.

He headed back to the bathroom and ran a small amount of product through his hair, just enough to spike the silver locks a little. He took one final look in the mirror, hoping that Mycroft would like what he saw, and then after a deep breath, grabbed his phone and wallet and headed out.

The festival had finished two weeks prior, but there was still an influx of tourists making the most of the brief autumn, so even though it was Thursday, the city was still bustling. Greg wandered up to The Mile and found his way to their meeting place. His eyes roamed the area, passing over a tall man, and then he stopped in his tracks, his mouth agape as they locked back on the man. He had never seen Mycroft in casual clothes before, and he had honestly not recognised him initially. He was wearing  _ jeans _ ! Nice jeans, but still, that was not something he’d expected in the politician’s wardrobe. He also had on a black pea coat, his hands shoved in the pockets against the chill that was starting to settle over the evening. A royal blue scarf was wrapped around his neck, and Greg was sure it would bring out the blue in those stormy eyes. He raised his hand to get Mycroft’s attention, and made his way through the crowd to greet him.

“Hi,” he said with a big smile.

“Hello, Gregory.” Mycroft returned the smile, though it seemed a little bashful.

“You look...well, you look amazing.”

Was that a blush creeping onto his cheeks? “That’s kind of you to say. You look nice as well.”

“Shall we go in?” 

They headed into the warm interior of the pub and took a seat in one of the booths in the dining area after taking off their coats and scarves. Greg glanced around, taking in the dark wooden paneling and the old fashioned artwork that decorated the walls, noting where the exit was and the feel of the small crowd. There was a football match being played on the telly near the bar and there was a small group of supporters watching but they were relatively quiet.

“It never quite shuts off, does it?” Mycroft noted, whilst looking at a menu.

“Pardon?” Greg asked, bringing his attention back to his companion.

He shut the menu and put it down, and gestured around the room. “You led us to the only free table that has an unobstructed view of the entrance, the rear door, the door to the kitchen, plus most of the bar area. You’ve already scanned the room looking for potential threats, but from the way you’ve relaxed your shoulders and are now leaning back, you have detected none. In short, Gregory, you walked in here as a copper, but only now are you a patron. As I said, it never shuts off.”

“Huh. I didn't even think about what I was doing.” He shrugged. “Just natural, I ‘spose.” He cleared his throat, and picked up his own menu, glancing at the selections. “So,” he said as casually as he could, “I didn't know you owned casual clothes.”

There was a moment of silence and he looked up to find Mycroft giving him an amused look. “Do you picture me wearing my three piece suits around the house? Imagine that I have a special tartan version, complete with waistcoat, in which I go to bed?”

“I’ve not really given much thought to what you wear to bed, Mr Holmes,” Greg replied primly, as he poured them some water.

Mycroft raised his eyebrow. “You disappoint me, Detective Inspector.”

He choked on his water at the words, banging on his chest with his fist. Once he could breathe again, he looked over to see a smile quirking the younger man’s lips. “Can you warn me before you say something like that again, please?” he demanded, his voice hoarse. “Or you might need to perform the Heimlich on me.”

Mycroft had picked up his menu again. “If you want my arms around you, you only need to ask, Gregory. No need to choke yourself.”

He could feel his cheeks flaming. “What did I  _ just _ say about warning me?”

“Correct me if I misread the situation, but this is a date, yes?” Said with a pointed look from over the top of the menu.

Greg rubbed at the back of his neck, feeling like a shy schoolboy. “Well, yeah. I’m thinking of it like one anyway.”

“As am I, because - and forgive me if I didn't make this quite clear - I am very attracted to you. So, this is a date, and usually there is flirting involved on such occasions. I didn’t know you required flashing lights and a bell for that.”

“Alright, fair enough, I was being a bit of a dolt. I’m just not...used to you being like this.”

“Like what, may I ask?”

Greg gestured at him vaguely. “Like  _ this _ . All relaxed and casual and different sexy.”

“Different sexy?” he asked, looking confused.

“You know, still sexy but not in your suits.”

He cocked his head to one side. “You find my suits sexy?”

“Well, yeah...I mean, who wouldn’t?”

“Judging from the lack of people throwing themselves at my feet everyday, I’d say most people.”

Greg huffed. “Yeah, well, most people must be blind then.”

Twin points of cherry had appeared on Mycroft’s cheeks. “I wasn’t aware you thought that.”

“As much as you seem omniscient, I’m not surprised there’s a  _ few _ things that have crossed my mind that you don’t know.”

“What might they be?”

He gave him one of his cheeky grins. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.”

“Challenge accepted,” Mycroft replied with a smile.

“Right, so, now that I’ve embarrassed myself enough for one night, shall we figure out what we’re having?”

“I’m happy to peruse the menu, Gregory, but please be assured that you haven’t embarrassed yourself. I was only teasing.”

He nodded and gave him a shy smile. “I know. I guess I just don't want to say something so stupid that you decide to wash your hands of me and leave.”

With a nervous flutter of his eyelashes, Mycroft reached a tentative finger across the table and lay it on Greg’s wrist. “That’s an impossibility.”

Their eyes met and Greg was surprised to see how earnest Mycroft was. He had assumed that he wasn’t one to become involved with anyone lightly, and the depth of emotion in those storm grey eyes just confirmed it. He swallowed heavily and nodded. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said quietly, sliding his hand down so his finger linked with Mycroft’s.

Mycroft curled his finger tightly around Greg’s for a moment and then pulled his hand back, picking up the menu again. “So, the chicken looks divine...”


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner had gone better than Greg could ever have hoped for. They had spoken on a broad range of subjects, the conversation flowing freely and easily, with very little awkwardness. He had been slightly worried that they wouldn’t connect on an intellectual level, simply because Mycroft was a certified genius and Greg was, well, Greg. One of Mycroft’s skills was diplomacy though, and he could weave its magic in a social setting just as easily as a political one. He had asked Greg about his schooling, and family, and hobbies and seemed to be genuinely interested in the answers. They laughed together over childhood war stories, finding they had both been in a fair amount of trouble in high school - Greg for being the little punk he was, and Mycroft for challenging the curriculum.

“You did _not_ really say that to him, did you?”

Mycroft grinned at the shocked expression on Greg’s face. “I most certainly did. His answer sheet to the exam was wrong and I knew categorically that I had solved the equation correctly. When he refused to listen to reason, I lost my temper. I hadn’t mastered anywhere near the level of control I have over my emotions then.”

“What was your parent’s reaction to calling your maths teacher a fucking imbecile?”

“Mummy is a mathematician - she called him much worse than that during the parent’s meeting. Of course, she was _most_ disappointed in my lack of manners and I was punished rather severely, if I do say so.”

Greg grinned, fascinated with the insight into a young Mycroft Holmes. “What did they do? Confiscate your Encyclopedia Britannica?”

Mycroft threw him a withering glance. “I’d memorised those dusty old tomes by the time I was eight, Gregory. No, they inflicted upon me a fate worse than death. I had to look after Sherlock for an entire weekend whilst they went to Rome.” He shuddered at the memory, and consoled himself with a sip of his whisky.

He winced in sympathy. “Yeah, that does seem pretty harsh. So, how many hearts did you break at school? I can picture you being quite the suave Casanova.”

Mycroft raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “I can assure you, Gregory, that you couldn’t be further from the truth if you tried. I didn’t have friends, let alone any romantic attachments.”

“That sounds lonesome.” His heart broke just a little for the younger man.

Mycroft shrugged. “It was what it was. I struggled with social interactions so very much back then. Sherlock and I both did. It was impossible to connect with other children when our minds were so far advanced in comparison.” He glanced apologetically at Greg. “I don’t mean that to sound condescending - merely stating a fact. Other children found us confusing and aloof. We found them to be boring and frustrating. Schoolyard conversations revolving around the latest issue of the Batman comic didn't gel with my thoughts on theoretical physics. And so I was shunned from the social circles and kept company with myself and my intellectual peers - mostly Mummy and Father’s friends.”

“I’ll try to keep my conversation away from Batman tonight then,” Greg said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

Mycroft huffed out a laugh. “No need to go to such lengths. I find your conversation witty and stimulating, Gregory, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

“Hmmm, that’s true, isn’t it? I can’t see you wasting your time on a lost cause.” He smiled a bit smugly. “I gotta admit, it’s a nice boost to my ego.”

“If it gets too big, I’ll be sure to bring you down a notch or two,” Mycroft told him drily.

“I have no doubt.” With an impish grin, Greg checked his watch. “We’ve still got fifty minutes before the tour starts. Fancy another drink?”

The younger man swirled the last swallow of whisky in his glass and then drained it. “I won’t say no. However, it will be your responsibility to keep my upright on this walking tour as I may be staggering a little by then.”

“We’ll probably need to prop each other up. I’m a bit more than tipsy myself.” He went to the bar and ordered their fourth whiskies for the evening. On top of the two he’d had that afternoon, he was definitely buzzing. “So,” he said upon his return, “no high school sweetheart to speak of, but you must have had crushes. Tell me who was your first crush.”

“Hmmm, let me think…” Mycroft drummed his fingers on the table as he thought back. “I think my _first_ crush was on my tutor. I was thirteen and she was in her thirties but very smart, and rather handsome for someone whom I thought of as being so terribly old.” They shared a laugh over the age prejudice of teens. “My _biggest_ crush though was on my PE teacher. I was not an athletic child, and found the entire notion of running about and sweating to be distasteful. He encouraged me to look at it from other angles though - to think of the mechanics of the process, which biological functions became involved, what chemical reactions occurred in the body. He got me involved by meshing a most unenjoyable activity with science, and taught me how to think outside the box.”

“He sounds like a really great guy.”

“He was an exceptional teacher, and the fitted shorts he wore appealed to my hormone riddled mind as well.”

Greg sniggered into his drink. “I’m happy to hear that geniuses think with their cocks at times too.”

“I’ve been doing little else today,” Mycroft confessed.

The heat of a blush crept over Greg’s cheeks. “Glad to hear I have that kind of effect on you.”

“I think you rather have that effect on most people you meet.”

“If you hadn’t been drinking whiskey all night I’d say you were wearing beer goggles.”

“For someone with a boosted ego, you seem unable to take a compliment.”

He shrugged, feeling very self conscious. “There’s a difference between you telling me you enjoy spending time with me and saying I turn heads.”

Mycroft regarded him silently for a long time, but then took pity on the DI and changed the subject. “So, what about you? When did you realise you were attracted to both men and women?”

Greg took another swallow of whiskey. “In my final year of high school. The neighbour’s oldest son was a year younger than me and he’d been left to babysit one night and invited me round to keep him company. After the little ones were in bed we got into his parent’s liquor cabinet and proceeded to get absolutely pissed. He kissed me, and before we knew it, I was on my knees sucking him off. His parents came home shortly afterwards so I scarpered and I thought the next morning when I’d sobered up, I’d be horrified with what I’d done. But I wasn’t - discovered that I actually liked it.”

“And what about your neighbour? Did you see him again?”

He shook his head. “Nah, he obviously felt the opposite about what happened. He avoided me for the rest of the year until I went off to college.” Greg looked at his watch and drained the remainder of his drink. “We should probably make a move.”

Mycroft nodded his agreement and finished his drink as well. They both made an effort to walk in a straight line to get out the door, catching each other’s eye once they were out and dissolving into a fit of giggles. “I must admit, I have not allowed myself to become this intoxicated in public for longer than I can remember,” Mycroft shared.

“Why is that?” Greg asked, bumping their shoulders together as they walked.

“I suppose it’s because the only social functions I attend are for work and I always have to appear to be in control at those. It wouldn’t do to spend an entire evening manipulating the people I need to, only to wake up the following morning and not remember a thing. Or to let slip one of my actual thoughts instead of the carefully crafted replies I usually use.”

“Or worse - end up in bed with the Egyptian Ambassador,” Greg said with a grin.

“I’m not wearing women’s underwear, so he wouldn’t be interested in me.”

Greg came to a halt and stared at the younger man in shock. “You’re kidding!”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “ _Of course_ I’m joking, Gregory. Do you really think a few drinks is all it would take to get me to give up those sorts of secrets?”

Making a rude noise, the DI continued walking, but then threw him a cheeky glance. “So...was it just the part about the Ambassador you were kidding about? Or are you _really_ wearing women’s underwear?”

“It’ll also take a lot more than a few drinks to get me to give up _that_ information.” Mycroft smirked.

“Cornflower blue.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Knickers that colour would be very complimentary to your skin tone,” Greg explained with a wink.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “You are incorrigible.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person to tell me that.”

“Nor the last I expect.”

“I reckon you’d be right.”

They arrived at the meeting spot just outside St Giles’ Cathedral and stood on the fringe of the small crowd. The wind had picked up and had caused the air to become chilly, and he stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, noticing Mycroft doing the same. He edged his way a little closer into the younger man’s personal space, but not just for the warmth. Mycroft turned to look at him and a shiver went up his spine when he realised he could feel puffs of warm breath on his cheek. “So, which ones do you reckon will be the chatty ones?” he asked, nodding at the small group of tour participants.

“Chatty ones?”

“You know, there’s always some in a group - they’re the ones who ask the questions, and offer their stories, and try to make it all about them.” He’d leaned even closer so he wouldn’t be overheard and offend anyone. “Then you’ve got the real history buffs who will ask actual relevant questions, and make valid contributions. On tours like this one you tend to also get the weirdos who actually believe ghosts are real, and they spend the whole time throwing dark looks at the skeptics who will debunk it all using science.”

“I’ve never done a tour like this before so I was unaware of the group dynamics.”

“Seriously? I’d have thought touring historical places would have been a hobby of yours.”

Mycroft gave him an odd look. “It is. Whenever I travel, I try and secure a few hours to myself if at all possible to do so. They’re just always private tours.”

“Oh. Right.” He shuffled a little awkwardly, wondering if this was the point Mycroft realised that Greg was just a stupid pleb and decided that this was all a mistake and the divide from being from two different worlds was just too great.

His thoughts must have been clear on his face because Mycroft reached out and touched his arm gently, closing the gap that had opened between them. “Managing to steal even a short amount of time in my busy schedule is hard enough - having that coincide with the timing of something like this is nigh on impossible. That’s the only reason that they’re private.” He scanned the crowd. “That group over there,” he said as he pointed his chin at two plump women with bright orange hair and a man who was wearing a grey flat cap. “They’ll be the chatty ones.”

Greg smiled in relief. “What about the believers?”

“They’re obvious, aren’t they?”

“If you’re talking about the group of middle aged women who look like they never left Woodstock and could open their own gem shop with the number of crystals they’re wearing, well, I _was_ trying not to stereotype.”

“Gregory, you do realise the irony in saying you’re trying not to apply stereotypes in a conversation about breaking people into groups, don’t you?”

“I, well, you see...look, just shut it!” He poked his tongue out, and tried not to laugh at the affronted look Mycroft gave him. “Who are the skeptics?” he asked, hoping to draw out Mycroft’s deductions so he’d continue to murmur into Greg’s ear. It was a sneaky move, but he was positive Mycroft saw right through it and he seemed happy to play along. As flirty as they’d been all evening, Greg was feeling unusually shy about initiating anything overly physical. He didn’t want the more inexperienced man to think he was just interested in getting in his pants (even though he was _definitely_ interested in doing that - but just not _only_ that). He wanted to move slowly, and allow the tension to build gradually instead of just jumping on the man and snogging him senseless.

“You mean the ones who provide the scientific explanation for anything out of the ordinary?”

His breath was so warm in Greg’s ear, and he had to restrain himself from just leaning right into him. “Yeah, those ones.”

“I rather think that’s us, don’t you?”

He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, probably. Though I’d say you get to wear two hats since you’re the history buff as well.”

“I’ve always been a man of many talents, Gregory.”

“I’m looking forward to getting to experience some of them first hand.”

Mycroft leaned in so close that Greg felt his lips brush against the shell of his ear. “And I very much look forward to showing you them,” he purred.

Greg gulped, and his jeans became uncomfortably tight. The tour guide arrived and beckoned for everyone to close up and gather round. Before he could move, Mycroft nipped gently at his earlobe and then pressed a soft kiss to it, and then stepped forward with the crowd. Greg’s knees turned to jelly and he wondered just how he was going to manage two hours of walking around when his body had that sort of reaction to one Mycroft Holmes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not an overly long chapter but I've made up for that by posting again so soon lol

Never before in his life had Greg been so aware of the proximity of another person. It felt like an electric current was linking he and Mycroft and with every tiny bump of the shoulders whilst walking, brush of the fingers as they followed the tour guide, or meeting of their eyes, a thrill shot through him. Even when they were standing next to each other, and not even touching, he was hyper aware of Mycroft - he could hear the calm, even breaths of the man, smell his slightly spicy cologne, and with each movement the taller man made, Greg found his body instinctively reacting and following. 

And now they were heading down into the vaults, and the large group of people bunched up as they squeezed into the narrow corridor. Mycroft stood slightly behind Greg, and they were so close he knew that if he shuffled back just an inch, they’d be touching. It took every ounce of his willpower to stop himself from making that little move, which, considering he was rather tipsy, was much more difficult than usual. As much as he knew it would be welcome, he didn’t know just quite how his body would react to having the warmth of that firm, lithe figure pressed against him. Actually, scratch that - he did bloody know. He’d more than likely throw himself at Mycroft and start snogging him senseless, giving the tour group a much more lively show than the dark, damp history of the South Bridge Vaults. He felt himself grinning as he pictured the guide turning his attention to them and start a running commentary for the group. People would pose in front of them for a holiday snap that they’d never look at again, and the Chatty Crowd would regale everyone with a story of their first snog.

“I didn’t think you’d find the story of death and poverty so amusing,” Mycroft murmured into his ear, sending goosebumps rippling down Greg’s throat.

“Hmmm?” he responded, pulling his thoughts back to the here and now.

The low, throaty chuckle turned his knees to mush. “Do pay attention, Gregory. I might decide to quiz you at the end of the night.”

The group was moving on now, down a dusty corridor, stopping outside of a small chamber that had been sealed off with bars. Trying to push all thoughts of soft lips, and a warm tongue out of his mind, Greg tried his best to listen to the guide as he explained an occult group had used this chamber for their arcane practices, but had been forced to abandon it because it had angered one of the resident ghosts. The small group of women Greg had dubbed The Woodstock Crowd gasped audibly and averted their eyes from the chamber, one of them turning to her friend and declaring she could feel the evil emanating from the room. Turning slightly, he saw Mycroft roll his eyes and he stifled a giggle. 

They were moving on again, further down the corridor and then into a large chamber, with a stone circle in the centre of the room. The group spread out around the edges of the room, Mycroft and Greg finding themselves in one of the rear corners. The taller man once again stood behind him, and once again, it took everything Greg had to not press himself backwards against him. The tension between them was thrumming so much that he was surprised it wasn’t making an audible sound. 

The guide spun them a story about how the occult group from the previous chamber now used this one and the stone circle for their rituals. They were warned not to cross the circle, as the tour company could not be held responsible for any supernatural injury that may occur, and already someone had suffered a heart attack from doing just that.

“Probably the result of trying to figure out the calendar appointments,” Mycroft whispered to Greg, sarcasm dripping from each word.

Greg turned his head so he could whisper back, and found his nose right next to the pale column of Mycroft’s throat. “Calendar appointments?”

“They run tours through here every night,” Mycroft explained, his breath tickling against the DI’s cheek. “An occult group wouldn’t dare meet during the day for fear of being laughed out of the nine circles of hell. I’m just saying it must take considerable talent to juggle everything to arrange it so both parties can utilise the chamber.”

Greg snorted out a laugh, earning him a glare from one of the Woodstock crew. He and Mycroft shared a grin, before he turned his attention back to the guide. They were now being told that numerous people had felt a malevolent presence in the room, specifically in the corner that they were standing in. Everyone was offered the chance to leave the room as they would shortly be turning off the lights to give the group the chance to sense the presence for themselves. No one took up the offer, but the Woodstock Crowd huddled closer together and as one moved farther away from the corner. 

“Shall we take bets on if we get groped by a ghost?” Greg asked Mycroft with a waggle of his eyebrows.

The younger man didn't reply, just smirked at Greg. The tour guide made a show of locking the door to the chamber, and then turned off the light. As they were plunged into darkness, there was several gasps from around the room, and some nervous laughter. Greg shifted slightly, the privacy of the dark only serving to make the tension between them more palpable. He desperately wanted to turn around or reach out to touch Mycroft, but he held still, not only because he didn't think he’d be able to stop at one touch, but because he was rather enjoying the anticipation in the air. Then there was a warm hand on his hip, and he squeezed his eyes shut as his body reacted like a hormone charged teen at the simple touch. His breathing hitched and his heart rate sped up, and he couldn’t believe how worked up he was getting just from feeling the warmth of those slender fingers through his clothes. 

It was too much for him when soft lips ghosted across the hairline at the back of his neck and a guttural moan escaped him. Someone screamed at the noise, and there was the sound of panic in the darkness. The lights switched back on and he blinked at the sudden brightness, before noticing a crystal laden heap on the floor. The tour guide hurried over to the blubbering woman and her friends crowded around her, throwing scared looks towards the corner the two were standing in.

Greg turned his back on them and covered his mouth with a hand so they wouldn’t see or hear him laughing. There was a smug smile tugging on the corners of Mycroft’s mouth and he arched an eyebrow as he looked down at him. “For shame, Gregory. Scaring the life out of the gullible.”

“My bad. I’ll try and keep quiet next time.”

Mycroft’s eyes smoldered as he leaned in close. “I’d much rather you didn’t.”

He took a sharp intake of breath. “Holy fucking shit, Mycroft, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Pale blue eyes trailed down his body suggestively, lingering on the rather obvious bulge in his jeans. “Oh, I rather think I do.”

Greg tried desperately to take control of his impulses before he did something that would get them arrested for indecent exposure. Luckily it was at that moment that the guide announced they’d be moving onto the kirkyard part of the tour, and the crowd started filing out of the room. He moved forwards but there was a muffled cry and a hand clamped down on his arm.

“ _ Don’t cross the circle! _ ” an older woman with long greying hair warned him anxiously.

He rolled his eyes. “Nothing will happen.”

“It isn’t safe. Don’t put yourself in danger.” She stood wringing her hands, and if the situation hadn’t been so ridiculous, he’d have felt bad for causing her such distress.

“Not safe, eh?” He turned towards Mycroft and held out a hand. “Will you be my buddy and help me cross safely?” he asked with a grin.

“Certainly,” Mycroft replied, taking the outstretched hand and twining their fingers together.

With a shocked gasp from the woman echoing around the chamber, the pair stepped into the circle and strode across to the exit, managing to avoid the wrath of the supernatural.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you looksie at that, another chapter! Huzzah!

They emerged from the vaults to find a fine mist was falling and they crowded close to a wall as they waited for the rest of the group to gather. Greg reached up and pulled Mycroft’s scarf tighter around his throat, trying to keep the chill moisture from dripping down his neck. The tall genius smiled gently at him and Greg stroked down his cheek with the back of two fingers. The urge to lean up and kiss him was strong, but he didn’t want their first kiss to be in a damp back alley with numerous witnesses. Mycroft’s pupils were blown wide with desire but the way he held himself back told Greg that he’d had the exact same thought. 

They stood close together while they waited and it wasn’t long before the group was being led along Chambers Street towards Greyfriars Kirkyard. Their hands found their way to each other again and they linked their fingers as they walked, the mood of the group subdued due to the rain. The thrumming tension was back between them, only seeming to have increased the more they touched and flirted. Once again Greg found himself floored that only that very morning he’d been moping about how lonely he was and how he’d have a hard time finding someone to connect with. It was bloody amazing how much things could change over the course of a single day.

“What are you thinking?” Mycroft asked quietly, noticing his smile.

“What, can’t you tell?” Greg was more than a little surprised.

The younger man gave a small shake of his head. “Unlike my brother, I don’t violate the privacy of people I care about and deduce things about them unless I have their explicit permission.”

“So you’re a gentleman  _ and _ a scholar, eh?”

“One tries one’s best.”

Greg gave his hand a squeeze. “I was just thinking about how great this day has been. I’m having a fantastic time, Mr Holmes. Thanks for agreeing to come out with me.”

“It is I who should be thanking you, Detective Inspector. I probably would never have mustered the courage to ask you out, no matter how much I wished too.”

“Looks like we’re both having a great day then,” he said with an easy grin.

“Indeed.”

Greg gave his hand another squeeze, as they followed the guide in companionable silence. He pondered Mycroft’s words as they walked, wondering just how long he had been wanting this. It definitely sounded like it had been quite some time, and he was a little in awe at how much control the politician had. Not once had Greg suspected that Mycroft felt anything other than a professional respect for him. He’d always been unfailingly polite, but he’d never let a flirty little quip or smouldering glance slip. But if he had, would Greg have reciprocated? He was honest enough to admit that up until today, he’d never even thought of Mycroft in that way. But if he’d seen that side of the man emerge, he’d have reacted the same way as he had done today, wouldn’t he? Or was it just this particular turn of events that had made him open to the possibility?

He gave himself a mental shake and chased the thoughts away. There was no point in going down the ‘what if’ path - he needed to concentrate on the here and now and what was in front of him. Or more specifically, what was beside him. He lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to Mycroft’s knuckles, and smiled over at him. The smile he got in return was just gorgeous. It seemed to be one that was reserved just for him and it was wide and genuine and just a little bit mischievous. 

The group reached the kirkyard and they gathered around the grave marker of Greyfriars Bobby, the famous dog who slept on his master’s grave for thirteen years. Greg had always loved the story as a kid, and he had a photo on his mantle at home of his aunt and he in front of the statue of the little dog. He’d named his first dog Bobby, and the little terrier was just as loyal and devout as his historical namesake. He had been so heartbroken when he’d died, that he’d not been able to bring himself to own another dog since. 

Mycroft must have sensed the sudden melancholy that washed over Greg, as he slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him close. The DI melted into the touch and wound his own arm around Mycroft’s waist, enjoying the warmth of the man next to him. The guide finished his recounting of Bobby’s story, and lead the group on towards Bloody MacKenzie’s tomb. They let their arms slip free as they walked, but linked their fingers again. The happiness welling inside of Greg at the casual touches was a little overwhelming but he decided to not analyse it tonight but just enjoy it.

The group stopped outside of the Black Mausoleum, the final resting place of George MacKenzie, the man who had been in charge of persecuting the Covenanters. Their guide regaled them with the tale of a homeless man who had broken into the mausoleum in 1998 and had awoken the evil spirit of the MacKenzie Poltergeist. After plunging into a pit full of decomposing plague victims, the man had fled, screaming hysterically, never to be heard of again. Since that day, over five hundred people reported to have been attacked by the poltergeist, and several exorcisms had failed.

Several members of the tour group were shuffling about nervously, and the woman who had collapsed in the vaults looked to be on the verge of a panic attack. Greg got the attention of the guide. “So, this homeless bloke, he was alone when he broke into the crypt?”

“That he was, sir. He single handedly smashed every casket in the tomb.”

“Right. And then when he was trying to smash MacKenzie’s casket, the floor opened up and he fell into a pit?”

“That’s right.”

“And he fled the scene, and as you say, was never heard from again?”

“The terror from being dumped into a pit of still rotting remains was too great and he ran screaming into the night.”

“Okay, but, you say he was alone, yeah? So, if he ran off and was never heard from again, then who knew what had transpired inside the mausoleum? If there were no witnesses, and no one ever saw him again, then how did the story get around?”

The guide opened his mouth to defend his story, but closed it as he realised that none of his reasoning would convince the copper who was interrogating him.

Mycroft chuckled and turned to Greg. “Just let it go, Detective Inspector, It’s a ghost story, nothing more.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t make any sense!”

“It’s not supposed too.”

“You’d think they’d have at least tried to make the story believable. I mean, what kind of moron would get worked up and scared over a story that’s so full of holes? A fucking stupid moron, that’s who!”

Several of the group (mostly those who had been genuinely scared) threw Greg dirty looks and huffed in annoyance. Mycroft smiled placatingly at them and when the group was led over to the Covenanters’ Prison, he waited so they were at the back of the group. “You’re filling your stereotypical role wonderfully,” he murmured so only Greg would hear him.

He couldn’t help but laugh. “Someone had to say something and you’re much too polite.”

“An occupational hazard I suppose.”

Greg leaned in closer and brushed his lips against the taller man’s ear. “I have the feeling that you’re much less polite when you’re in a more... _ intimate _ setting.” He grinned wickedly when he noticed the shiver that rippled down Mycroft’s body.

“An astute observation,” the genius replied, his eyes fluttering closed causing the long lashes to bat against his cheeks.

Feeling that a little tit for tat was required, Greg took the lobe of his ear gently between his teeth and sucked it into his mouth. “I very much look forward to meeting the impolite side of you, Mr Holmes.” He stepped back and turned his attention back to the guide, suppressing a smile as he noticed out of the corner of his eye how heavily Mycroft was breathing. The tour would be coming to an end shortly and he couldn’t wait to get the elegant man alone. 

The group was led into the prison, and Gerg observed Mycroft as he looked around in fascination. He knew that he was particularly interested in this part of the tour, so he kept any sarcastic comments to himself so his date could fully enjoy his surroundings. They were allowed ten minutes to wander about by themselves and look into the barred off cells, and Greg listened attentively as Mycroft explained even more of the history. He admitted to himself that it was quite the turn on, watching as the younger man became more and more animated as he got caught up in his story. Several members of the group drifted closer to hear him speak, and Greg felt a little spike of pride as he answered questions that the guide hadn’t know the answer to. That morphed into a spark of jealousy when he noticed a rather attractive woman looking just as turned on by Mycroft’s history lesson who then engaged him in a one-on-one conversation about Reformation. He swallowed it down, not wanting to make a fool of himself, and he tried to be nonchalant as he stood off to one side and read one of the information plaques on the wall. He heard Mycroft start to stammer uncomfortably and realised the woman was trying to pin him down into meeting for coffee to discuss it further. He walked across to them and wrapped an arm around Mycroft’s waist before laying a possessive kiss to his cheek. “Just about done here, babe?” he asked.

“Yes, Gregory, I believe so,” he replied gratefully. 

Greg nodded at the woman, unable to keep the smirk off his face, as he led Mycroft away. The younger man’s cheeks were flushed in embarrassment, and Greg found himself thinking it rather adorable that one moment Mycroft could be acting like a sex bomb, and the very next he was an awkward mess. The variable appeared to be himself, and he felt rather smug knowing that he had that effect on him.

“Babe?” Mycroft asked incredulously once they were out of earshot.

Greg couldn’t help but laugh. “Just wanted her to get the point.”

“And what point was that, exactly?” 

He stepped in close to the younger man and cupped his cheek. “That you’re mine,” he growled.

Mycroft arched an eyebrow. “I didn’t peg you for the possessive type.”

He shrugged. “I’m not, usually. But I won’t have you stolen away from me before we’ve even finished our first date.”

“I thought I’d made it clear that I have no interest in anyone but you, Gregory.”

Greg managed to look bashful. “I’m sorry. I didn't mean to be a dick about it. Sorry if I embarrassed you.”

Slender fingers trailed their way down his own cheek. “No need to apologise. I found I rather liked it.”

“Oh, that’s good then. I’m glad I didn't scare you off.”

“Quite the opposite.”  


“So...does that mean that you’re up for another drink after this then?”

“Most assuredly.” Mycroft’s lips turned up into a seductive smile. “And then after the drink, I am most interested in getting you alone somewhere...more intimate”

Greg’s answering smile was positively lascivious. “Perhaps instead of a drink, we should make it a shot?”


	6. Chapter 6

The tour wrapped up, and most people made their way to the pub next door for a drink. Greg and Mycroft decided they’d have their drink there as well, but took their time as they left the kirkyard, stopping to read the plaque of notable burials. Mycroft read aloud some of the more interesting names, giving Greg a quick explanation of who they were and their accomplishments. A name jumped out at Greg and he laughed as he pointed it out.

“McGonagall is buried here in an unmarked grave!”

Mycroft managed to look surprised. “You know of William McGonagall?”

Greg shrugged as they made their way to the pub. “In high school we had to give a poetry recital. I wasn’t too impressed with the assignment so in typical punk form, I decided to rebel by finding the worst poem I could.”

Mycroft laughed. “Actually, now that I think about it, that sounds very much like something you’d do. Which gem did you chose to do?”

“The Famous Tay Whale,” he answered as they waited at the bar.

“What was the reaction to that?”

Greg ordered two whiskies for them and they found an empty table. They sat opposite each other, with their knees touching under the table, and their heads leaning in close to one another. “Well, my teacher was far from impressed, but really, she couldn’t fault me since I met the assignment’s requirements. My classmates found my dramatic recounting of the tale quite amusing.”

“Oh dear. I assume you gave it the pomp and ceremony that it so rightly deserved?”

Greg grinned and then leaned back in his chair, and adopted a lofty expression. He began to recite the poem in the pounciest voice he could manage, ignoring the odd looks that other patrons threw his way. 

“’Twas in the month of December, and in the year 1883,

That a monster whale came to Dundee,

Resolved for a few days to sport and play,

And devour the small fishes in the silvery Tay.

So the monster whale did sport and play

Among the innocent little fishes in the beautiful Tay,

Until he was seen by some men one day,

And they resolved to catch him without delay.

When it came to be known a whale was seen in the Tay,

Some men began to talk and to say,

We must try and catch this monster of a whale,

So come on, brave boys, and never say fail.

Then the people together in crowds did run,

Resolved to capture the whale and to have some fun!

So small boats were launched on the silvery Tay,

While the monster of the deep did sport and play.

Oh! it was a most fearful and beautiful sight,

To see it lashing the water with its tail all its might,

And making the water ascend like a shower of hail,

With one lash of its ugly and mighty tail.

Then the water did descend on the men in the boats,

Which wet their trousers and also their coats;

But it only made them the more determined to catch the whale,

But the whale shook at them his tail.” He laughed and sipped at his drink. “I can’t remember the rest, but even if I could, I wouldn’t subject you to the atrocity any more than I already have.”

Mycroft raised his glass and clinked it against Greg’s. “And for that you have my eternal gratitude.”

“There’s a website where you can sign up to have the Gem of the Day emailed to you. There have been several times when Sherlock has pissed me off so much that I’ve contemplated signing him up. But then I think about how he would retaliate, and I chicken out.”

“Yes well, that’s a form of torture in itself so for him to one up you would mean something very nasty indeed.”

“My thoughts exactly.” They both laughed and Greg couldn’t help but stare at the auburn haired man sitting opposite him. His features were so elegant, and when he laughed his eyes practically twinkled. “You’re bloody gorgeous, do you know that?” he blurted without thinking.

He’d half expected Mycroft to blush but instead his eyes locked on his with an intensity that made Greg’s knees tremble. “How close is your hotel room?”

“Um, it’s in Hunter Square, not too far from St Giles.”

“Much closer than mine then,” he said, his eyes locked on Greg’s and his voice full of desire.

Greg downed his drink. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

Mycroft grinned and finished the last swallow of his own drink. They hurried outside and Greg led the way down Candlemaker’s Row, deciding to go the slightly longer, but quieter way. The mist had stopped falling, but the chill hung in the crisp night air, and they walked quickly, the tension between them tighter than a bow string. By the time they had passed the row of shops and had hit the wall of the kirkyard, Greg couldn’t wait any longer. He grasped the lapels on Mycroft’s peacoat and spun him until he had his back to the wall. He stepped in close, his nose trailing over the cool skin of Mycroft’s cheek. “I have been wanting to do this all night, Mr Holmes.” He pressed their lips together, softly at first, almost sighing against the taller man. One of Mycroft’s long, slender hands came up to cup the back of his neck and pulled him in closer, deepening the kiss. Their lips moved against each other, Mycroft’s soft and warm, and Greg’s slightly chapped from where he’d been biting them. He licked along the full bottom lip of the younger man, as he moved his hand down the firm chest in front of him, slipping it down and around until it settled on a slim hip. 

Mycroft parted his lips and Greg took the opportunity to dip his tongue inside, letting it dance lazily against his companion’s. A moan escaped from Mycroft and he spun them, pushing the older man against the wall and taking control of the kiss. He placed a warm hand to either side of Greg’s face and nipped at the DI’s lower lip, then pushed his tongue into his mouth. Greg gasped at the change of pace, returning the kiss enthusiastically. He was already hard and he couldn’t help but roll his hips, trying to find the friction he needed.

“Fuck, Gregory,” Mycroft whimpered as they pulled apart for much needed air.

Greg’s pulse increased and he crashed their lips back together. “You are so hot when you curse,” he said between kisses. He’d never seen the politician so abandoned before and it was turning him on, making him want him desperately. His hands roamed over Mycroft’s chest and arms, then around to his back, but there was a frustrating amount of material in the way. The way warm hands were pawing at his own clothes told him the feeling was mutual.

“I want you so much,” Mycroft told him, his blue eyes almost black with desire. 

“Fucking hell,” Greg stuttered, overwhelmed by how much his own sentiment echoed that. He pressed one last kiss to those damnable lips and then grasped his hand. “Come on,” he said, and they started back along the road.

They spoke little as they walked, neither feeling the need for conversation. Greg’s mind was ticking over though, thinking about what a wonderful time he’d had that night. He was just absolutely floored at how well they’d connected - he’d truly believed that he’d never find anyone again to have that with. If he was honest with himself, he’d never really had it with his ex-wife, not like this anyway. They’d met so young, and he’d thought at the time that they were perfect for each other, but looking back now, he had been so very wrong. They’d both wanted that special bond so much that they’d taken the affection and limited compatibility that they had and forced it until it resembled what they wanted. Cracks had appeared early on and it had crumbled away over time, leaving only bitterness and regret.

What he was feeling now though, this felt  _ right _ . Even when he looked behind the shiny polish of new relationship exuberance, he knew that there was a solid foundation. He’d spent the past several years analysing what had gone wrong in his marriage and trying to figure out what he wanted, and it was right here in front of his face. If he hadn’t been so burned from his breakup, he probably wouldn’t be taking himself seriously - it was only their first date after all. He had built a rather formidable fortress around himself, and he had given a great deal of thought to the sort of person who would be able to break their way through it. It was crystal clear that Mycroft was the exact sort of person needed. He was strong and loyal, intelligent and funny, passionate and fierce, which combined with their obvious sexual attraction made for a very pretty package.

Greg was very certain that he wanted his association with Mycroft to continue past this night, and this weekend, and well into the future. But here he was, leading the way back to his hotel room where they were going to shag each other’s brains out. Was that really the best course of action? His cock was answering with a resounding YES but the part of his brain not currently being controlled by his dick was telling a different story. If he wanted this to become serious, was sleeping together on the first date wise? Would that just send the completely wrong signal? Would Mycroft believe he was just using him for a one time thing? But what would happen if he didn’t sleep with him? Would the younger man feel rejected and shunned? Or would he understand the reasoning behind it?

They reached his hotel and he still hadn’t come to a conclusion. He led the way to his room, ushering the younger man in before him. Once inside, he pulled off his coat and scarf, Mycroft doing the same. Greg threw the garments onto the back of the chair and before he could say anything, Mycroft was in front of him, pressing their lips together, his long fingers tangling in his still damp hair. He moaned against those soft lips, losing himself in the kiss, wanting nothing more but to be as close as possible. The younger man was so warm against him, and making the most delicious noises as he licked his way into Greg’s mouth, that it took an unprecedented amount of willpower to pull away from him and take a step back. “Mycroft, can we just hit pause for a minute?” he asked, stroking his fingers down his pale cheeks.

“What’s wrong, Gregory?” Mycroft asked softly, and the vulnerability in his tone almost broke Greg’s heart.

“Nothing!” he was quick to assure. “I just want to, well,  _ need _ to, talk to you about something first. Can we sit?” He motioned to the bed and pulled the auburn haired man down next to him. “Look, I don’t really know how to say this, so I’m going to just come right out with it since we’ve always been upfront with each other in the past.”

“I understand, Gregory. You’re not interested in anything serious,” Mycroft jumped in with. “It’s okay, I always knew that someone like you wouldn’t want a ser-” His sentence was cut off abruptly by Greg’s hand over his mouth.

“No, you’ve got it backwards,” he said patiently. When he was sure that Mycroft would hear him out, he removed his hand. “I  _ am _ interested in something more with you, if you’re up for it, which is why I’m not sure we should jump straight into bed with each other. Don't get me wrong - you have no idea how much I bloody  _ want _ you right now - but I also don't want to fuck this up by going too fast. I’ll admit that this has kind of snuck up on me, but I can’t think of anything I want more than to get to know you better.”

He’d never expected to be able to surprise Mycroft ‘The British Government’ Holmes, but he obviously just did. “You do?” the younger man almost whispered. “You want to be with me?”

He gave him a soft smile. “Yeah, ‘course I do. You’re pretty bloody special, Mycroft. I never thought you’d be interested in someone like me, but we seem to be getting on smashingly. I definitely think that’s worth exploring.”

Mycroft nodded, thinking it over. “I understand your hesitance in regards to rushing into physical intimacy, but may I suggest that there is something you haven’t considered?”

“What would that be?”

Mycroft leaned in and kissed him gently, and pulled away with a smile. “This might be out first proper date, but we’ve known each other for years. Is it really rushing things when we have so much history?”

He considered this. “I see your point,” he admitted. “I just want to make doubly sure though that this is what you want. I don't want you regretting anything tomorrow.”

The younger man shoved him backwards on the bed and climbed up onto his lap. “Gregory, the only thing I will regret is having to kill you if you don’t  _ fuck me right now _ .”

Greg laughed, and pulled Mycroft down so he could kiss him. “Well, when you put it like that…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to have the final chapter up within the next few days, but one of my uncles is very ill right now so things are a bit hectic. It *is* coming though, so don't worry :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating bump for this chapter ;-)

Mycroft was the best kisser that Greg had ever known. At first glance, he wouldn’t have pegged him for that title - everyone the DI had enjoyed snogging in the past had full, plump lips and the politician’s were much thinner, but what he  _ did _ with them! The younger man was completely rewriting what Greg believed a good kiss should entail. He tongue seemed to map his entire mouth and instead of being overwhelming and sloppy (wet, goopy kisses were the  _ worst _ in Greg’s opinion), it was extremely erotic and sensual. Mycroft also loved to change up the pace - one moment they would be hot and passionate kisses, then the next they would be soft and gentle, and then they would build again until both men were hot and panting.

They spent a long time just lying together kissing, touching, and enjoying each other. Now that they had had a conversation and knew where they both stood, there was no need to hurry, to get caught up in frantic, hot sex that would be over before they knew it. They had both agreed they wanted more, and knew that this would be the first of many times together, so why rush? Besides, there was something so damn sexy about being so close, and yet still fully clothed, that made Greg want to prolong the experience for as long as he could. The thrill of anticipation had been building the entire duration of their date, and he didn't quite want it to end just yet. He knew the longer he waited, the better it would be.

Mycroft seemed to agree, as there was no urgency about his actions. His hands wandered across Greg’s body, exploring and caressing, every now and then slipping up under his top to stroke at hot skin, but never trying to remove the garment. He slipped a leg in between Greg’s knees, tangling their legs together, and putting a hand on the small of his back to pull their bodies closer together. Greg could feel Mycroft’s hardness pressing against his own and a small moan escaped his lips at the delicious feeling as they rubbed against one another.

He kissed his way down the pale column of Mycroft’s throat, delighting in the feel of soft skin and the spicy scent of his cologne. He’d always had a thing for a sexy throat, and the one he was currently devouring was one of the more delightful ones he’d had the pleasure of nuzzling. Mycroft seemed to enjoy the attention, making a low humming noise when Greg nipped at the skin above his pulse point.

“Fuck me, you are so gorgeous,” Greg said breathily, his eyes shot with desire. “I really hope you know that.” The look on Mycroft’s face told him that he didn’t quite believe the sentiment, and he vowed that if there was one thing that Gregory Lestrade would accomplish in his lifetime, it would be to tell this exquisite creature before him over and over until he believed it. “Well, you are. I have never been with anyone who is so elegant-” He punctuated the statement with a kiss, “-so sexy-” Another kiss, “Clever.” Kiss. “Hot.” Kiss. “Brilliant.” Kiss. “Caring.” Kiss. “And all round just downright fucking perfect.” Mycroft’s cheeks had tinged adorably with pink and Greg kissed him again, this one long and lingering, their tongues dancing together. He pulled away and sat up, taking a moment to pull his knit top off over his head. He delighted in the look of pure lust on the younger man’s face as his blue eyes trailed their way down Greg’s chest. 

“Don’t stop there,” Mycroft told him as he went to lay down again. “I want it all off.”

Grinning, Greg hopped up from the bed and started to unbutton his jeans. He froze as a thought occurred to him. “Erm...I don't have any...supplies. I wasn’t exactly expecting anything like this to happen while I was here.”

Mycroft pulled himself up onto his knees and hooked his fingers through the belt loops of Greg’s jeans, pulling him close. “Luckily for us, I am well known for my preparedness.” He licked a stripe up the older man’s chest, finding a nipple and sucking on it gently. He pulled away with a smirk, and nodded to his coat. “Inside pocket. You’ll find what we need.”

Raising an eyebrow, Greg crossed the room and retrieved a condom and two sachets of travel sized lube. “You never cease to amaze me,” he said with a grin.

“I hope I never do.”

Stripping off the rest of his clothes, he climbed back up onto the bed and pushed Mycroft down onto his back. He straddled the redhead and started to undo the buttons on his shirt. “Since you came prepared, I assume you’ve been thinking about this all night?” 

The younger man nodded, his breathing shallow.

Reaching the last button, Greg pushed back the shirt to reveal the pale skin beneath. He trailed his fingers over it, tracing from freckle to freckle, and following the path with his lips. “So, for our entire date, you’ve been thinking of having my hands and mouth all over you?”

Once again, Mycroft nodded.

“What else did you think about?” Greg asked, rubbing the pad of his thumb over a nipple until it formed a peak. He ducked down and sucked it into his mouth, enjoying the way the body underneath him arched at the touch. Mycroft only moaned in response, and Greg pulled back. “You’re being very quiet - have you suddenly gone shy? Why don’t you want to answer me?”

“A bit...overwhelming. The sensations. So...so much data.” His voice was breathless and he gasped for air.

Greg eased up with his touches, keeping contact but making sure it was feather light. He leaned down to give his lover a soft kiss. “I’m sorry, I forget how your brain works,” he apologised. “I should have realised it would be a bit much all at once.”

Mycroft shook his head. “Don’t stop, it’s good. I just find it easier when I don't have talk.”

Nodding, he kissed him again and sat back up. “That’s okay. Do you mind if I talk?   


He moaned. “God, please do.”

He grinned cheekily. “You like it do you?”

Mycroft closed his eyes as a small shudder ran through him. “Gregory, you have no idea what  _ your voice _ does to me.”

He wriggled slightly, causing his arse to grind against the hardness trapped beneath him. “I think I have some idea.” 

“I am wearing far too many clothes,” Mycroft declared, pushing Greg off his lap so he could pull his shirt off his shoulders. Greg helped him unfasten his jeans and then pulled them down his impossibly long legs, stripping them off inside out. His pants followed and the DI took a moment to just drink in the sight beneath him. 

“Holy fuck, but you’re beautiful.” He bent over to capture him in an urgent kiss, unable to wait any longer.

“Gregory,  _ please _ .”

He shuffled down the bed until he was crouching between Mycroft’s legs and he ripped open one of the packets of lube. “How much prep will you need?” he asked, not entirely certain how stretched the younger man would be.

“Not a lot,” Mycroft said. “I’ve not been with anyone for a while but I have a lovely selection of toys.”

It was Greg’s turn to moan as images of Mycroft fucking himself with a plug ran across his mind. “Fuck me, you just keep getting sexier.” He coated his fingers and slipped one easily inside Mycroft, his dick twitching when he felt how tight and hot the man was. He quickly inserted another, and soon he was fucking him with three fingers. 

“That’s more than enough, please, just fuck me.” The younger man was gasping and writhing beneath him and Greg didn’t need to be told twice. He removed his fingers, rolled on the condom, and pushed himself inside.

“Oh fuck, you feel so good,” he cried, trying to still himself so his lover could adjust. He buried his face in Mycroft’s neck, kissing and sucking, until he felt a heel on his back, urging him to move.

They began to move against each other, breaths coming in harsh pants as Mycroft scratched his nails lightly down Greg’s back and took hold of his hips in a bruising grip. Greg could feel the long, slender cock trapped between them slip up and down his stomach as he moved, and he tried to reach down to give the younger man a hand. He overbalanced and face planted onto Mycroft’s chest, causing them to break out into helpless giggles. 

“Ow,” Greg said, rubbing at his nose which had been squished against a prominent collarbone. 

Mycroft kissed the injured appendage and then gently pushed Greg off him. “Here, let me come up on top - it’ll leave your hands free.”

They rearranged themselves and then Mycroft sank down onto Greg’s cock, his eyelashes fluttering closed as he felt himself filled. The DI ran his fingers down across the younger man’s chest, and then curled one hand around his cock, giving it a few experimental pumps.

“Oh!” Pale blue eyes flew open and locked with warm brown ones. “Just a little tighter,” he gasped and Greg hurried to comply. Mycroft moaned again as Greg continued to stroke him, his other hand running up and down his lover’s thigh.

Greg could feel his orgasm begin to build as Mycroft rode him, and he knew that combined with the amount he’d had to drink, and just how hot his date was, he wasn’t going to last long. Mycroft seemed to be in the same boat, as his breathing had increased as he moved faster and faster. Thrusting his hips upwards changed the angle and caused the younger man to shout out, and Greg did it again and again, making sure he brushed against Mycroft’s prostate both on the way in and out. Four thrusts later and he felt muscles contract around him, and then Mycroft was spilling himself over Greg’s stomach and chest. He couldn’t stop himself as his lover spasmed around him and he cried out Mycroft’s name as he came.

The younger man fell against his chest and they lay together, waiting for their legs to stop shaking and their breathing to even out. Greg brushed a kiss to his temple and said, “That was amazing.”

Mycroft chuckled. “Indeed it was.”

Greg reached across and grabbed the box of tissues that was next to the bed and they cleaned themselves up as best they could. He put the box back and hit the light, then settled back down and pulled Mycroft into his arms. It wasn’t long before he was drifting off to sleep, happier than he’d been in a very long time.

*****

The sun was just rising when Mycroft woke. Strong arms were wrapped around him and he shifted slightly so he could see Gregory’s face. The DI looked much younger while sleeping, the years falling from his relaxed face. His hair was sticking out in all directions, and one cheek was squished against the pillow, and there was a small damp patch of drool on the case. To Mycroft, he had never looked more beautiful.

He smiled to himself as he replayed the events of yesterday in his mind, reliving the date over and over again. He had never thought he’d ever be lucky enough to draw the attention of the man he’d been in love with for years, but it seemed that fate had had a surprise in store for him. And how fitting had it been, that it had all started here? The city he loved for it’s rich and vibrant history was the scene for the beginning of their own history together. 

Greg murmured in his sleep and his arms tightened around Mycroft. The younger man smiled, and sank into the embrace, letting sleep take him again so he’d be well rested for the start of their new story together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always struggle with the smut so sorry if it wasn't the best sex scene in the world. I just hope the rest of the story more than made up for it :) Thanks for reading and for all your lovely feedback and kudos - it's very much appreciated!


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